When Bans Breed Addiction Instead of Curing It

When Nepal’s government abruptly banned social media platforms in an attempt to control information, it expected silence and order. What it got instead was rebellion. Deprived of their digital autonomy, Nepal’s Gen Z took to the streets, and the ban became a catalyst for the government’s downfall.

This episode offers a stark lesson in the psychology of prohibition. Attempts to control human behaviour through blunt-force bans rarely solve the problem. Instead, they validate, amplify, and channel it into more dangerous forms.

India often treads the same path. Recently, it abruptly banned real-money gaming platforms. Before that, it was porn. The stated aim is to curb addiction; the real effect is to legitimise it. By criminalising activities that millions engage in casually, the state risks turning a pastime into pathology. Rather than reducing harm, it pushes users to unregulated offshore platforms while reinforcing the very compulsions policymakers seek to erase.

Banning is not curing the disease; it is confirming the symptom.

This is the paradox of regulating the digital age. Prohibition creates the “forbidden fruit effect.” A ban takes something mainstream and declares it deviant, externalising blame and creating a new identity of “we, the banned.” It medicalises casual use, erases personal agency, and gives users a banner of rebellion. Just as Nepal’s youth resisted the removal of their digital autonomy, India’s gamers will resist the removal of theirs.

As a psychologist, I see bans not as solutions but as profound misunderstandings of the human mind. Imagine telling a therapist, “I am sad.” Instead of exploring the roots of your distress, the therapist replies, “Don’t be sad,” and surgically removes your tear ducts. That is what a ban does to Gaming Disorder—or any other addiction. It suppresses the symptom while leaving the cause untouched, making relapse inevitable.

Prohibition Paradox
To understand why bans backfire, we must examine what drives people to excessive gaming in the first place. Decades of psychological research point to three universal human needs: autonomy (the ability to choose), competence (the sense of being effective), and relatedness (meaningful connection with others). When these needs are met, we thrive. When they are thwarted—as they often are in modern India—we seek compensatory escapes. For millions, real-money gaming provides that escape.

Nearly 59% of India’s online gambling demographic is aged between 25 and 40, with North India leading in participation. Scratch beneath the surface, and you see individuals not chasing jackpots but fleeing their realities. RMG is less about money than about unmet needs. It maladaptively satisfies autonomy, competence, and relatedness—needs their offline lives fail to provide.

This demographic lives under heavy social and familial pressure. Careers and marriages are shaped by external expectations. Job markets are saturated, economic uncertainty looms, and “autonomy” is scripted by forces beyond their control. Gaming apps become parallel universes, where micro-choices—whether to play rummy or fantasy cricket, or stake ₹10 or ₹1,000—restore a fleeting sense of agency. Every tap becomes an assertion of self that their offline world denies.

A ban removes even this fragile autonomy, replacing it with external control. This triggers rebellion and drives users to riskier offshore platforms.

The same is true of competence. For many young professionals, the “dream” has narrowed. Promotions are slow, salaries stagnant, and success feels remote. The feedback loop between effort and reward is painfully long and often unfair. RMG platforms, by contrast, are competence-delivery machines. They offer clear rules, immediate feedback, and data-driven hits of mastery. A win feels like proof of skill; a loss is often reframed as a learning experience—"You were so close!"

What looks like mindless gambling to us, feels like performative skill to them. The appeal is the meritocratic illusion that their knowledge (of sports, cards or strategy) can directly translate to success, unlike the opaque real-world economy.

And then there is relatedness. Urban migration, long commutes, and fraying communities have left many young Indians socially adrift. RMG platforms provide “third places”: digital venues outside home and work where friendships form, identities build (“Dream11 Pro,” “Rummy Master”), and communities thrive. A ban does not simply remove a game; it dismantles these communities. It attacks the coping mechanism, not the cause.

The parallels with other prohibitions are obvious. India bans drugs, yet they are ubiquitous. Pornography is illegal, yet accessible on any smartphone. In each case, prohibition heightens the allure of the forbidden while ignoring underlying drivers. RMG will follow the same trajectory. The ban will not erase addiction; it will carve it deeper into culture.

If the goal is truly to tackle mass addiction, our interventions must be smarter than a sledgehammer. We must move from coercion to empowerment. This requires a multi-pronged strategy addressing root causes.First, empower autonomy through design. Instead of outlawing platforms, mandate user-controlled tools: hard stop loss limits, reality checks, and customisable cool-off periods. These features give individuals the ability to regulate themselves rather than having regulation imposed upon them. It is the difference between forced abstinence and learned self-control.

Second, invest in competence offline. When young professionals feel stagnant and powerless, digital platforms will continue to serve as their surrogate arenas of mastery. Policymakers and the private sector must work together to build real-world pathways for skill acquisition, career growth, and measurable success. This isn't about leisure; it's about economic investment in skill-building programms and creating clearer pathways to success for the disaffected 25-40 demographic.

Third, curate relatedness through social infrastructure. If RMG platforms have become digital “third places” for young Indians, then it is time to consciously create healthier alternatives. Community centers, co-working hubs, affordable cultural spaces, and digital platforms for positive engagement should not be luxuries to the top 1% but amenities accessible to all as public health necessities. They can redirect the need for belonging, status, and recognition into constructive channels.

This logic extends beyond gaming. The answer is never prohibition alone. The sustainable solution is societal investment in autonomy, competence, and relatedness in the real world. This requires bottom-up awareness programmes where behavioral therapists equip people with tools for self-regulation, not top-down punishments. This requires a cultural shift, where we encourage personal goal-setting and create ecosystems that offer meaningful leisure and mastery. This requires curating digital environments, which promote platforms for mindfulness and skill-building while regulating exploitative design.

The question for policymakers is not whether they oppose addiction. We all do. The real question is whether they are serious about solving it. Will they invest in the complex, long-term work of building a healthier society—or settle for the illusion of action, knowing bans will fail?